Sixteen days later
you still fast
Why are you doing this?
Why are you doing this, to me, for me?
What do you hope to achieve?
I know even the ones who care now
or pretend to
won’t care later, for you, dear Lou.
Except in words. You may win immortal dress.
You are beginning to bother me, my friend.
You seem too much like me
hoping to excel in self-made suffering, tilting at windmills
opening up your poems to all for free.
Around you the discourse will soon take undue advantage of you
bringing in colonialism, religion and what else have you.
Are you oblivious to the soon to emerge hullabaloo?
Do you want me to take on something too big for me?
I refuse to.
I have enough already to do.
After all, Louis, all of us are Palestinian and Jew.